


Ring Out the Bells (The Fatherland Remix)

by FairestCat



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: remix_redux, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-17
Updated: 2008-09-17
Packaged: 2017-10-01 23:28:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairestCat/pseuds/FairestCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>She was flushed from exertion, a riot of tangled curls framing her face, and for one brief moment it was another he saw in her place, bright and golden in the sun.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Ring Out the Bells (The Fatherland Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Ring Out The Bells](https://archiveofourown.org/works/913) by [zulu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zulu/pseuds/zulu). 



> Written for RemixRedux. Thanks to Kinetikatrue for the beta.

Summer on Athos was stifling, the air thick with moisture, the sun hanging hot and heavy in the sky. It had been a profitable trading mission, surplus tava crops exchanged for fresh meat and fine Athosian leatherwork. Still, negotiations had taken several days as each side angled for the most advantageous terms. The walk to the gate -- laden as they were with trade goods -- was slow and Tyrus was restless, but he picked up his pace as the ring came into sight, already anticipating the cooler autumn sun of Genia, the promise of winter fresh in the air.

*******

Sora was waiting when they stepped through the gate. She was flushed from exertion, a riot of tangled curls framing her face, and for one brief moment it was another he saw in her place, bright and golden in the sun.

Tyrus blinked and the apparition was gone, no more than a wisp of memory.

It was Sora, no other, who awaited them, and Tagan who stepped forward smiling to greet her.

Her answering smile was wide and her voice warm, but her eyes were focused over his shoulder, where the last of the Athosians were stepping through the ring.

*******

He watched them during the walk to the village and wondered that he'd not noticed the spark between them before, the current of desire beneath their casual conversation. Teyla laughed suddenly, rich and deep, and Sora seemed almost to lean towards the sound, like a flower to the sun.

"Sora," he called. "Come, tell me what has passed in my absence?"

She fell back to his side, and they spoke of inconsequential things, crops and gossip and other trappings of above-ground life. But he noted that her eyes followed the graceful form of Teyla Emmagen, striding through the autumn grass.

*******

They feasted well that night. The table was laden with the first fruits of the harvest; ale and cider flowing freely. Tyrus sipped at his ale distractedly, watching Sora out of the corner of his eye. She had grown bolder as the night wore on, flirting and teasing, her eyes shining in the torchlight. She bit into a ripe fruit, holding Teyla's gaze as she licked the juice from her hands.

He had to turn away from the sight. At the other end of the table Cowen raised one eyebrow questioningly.

Tyrus inclined his head in response. _She forgets herself_.

*******

He slipped away during the dancing knowing Cowan would follow.

He thought he caught a glimpse of Teyla and Sora on the other side of the fire, but he didn't linger to watch.

They slipped across the fields in silence, not speaking until the metal hatch sealed behind them.

"She forgets her place." Cowan's tone was conversational, but Tyrus heard the unspoken rebuke in the words, so close an echo of his own thoughts.

"She's young still."

"Not so young anymore.

He thought of the two figures he'd seen dancing in the torchlight. "No. She's not."

"We'll tell her tonight."

*******

When he returns to the surface, they're nowhere in sight. He scans the edges of the dance floor for them, hoping they've not gone far. He would prefer to avoid the awkwardness of interrupting them elsewhere, but he will if he must. He finally spots them just at the edge of the torchlight, bodies entwined, hands tangled in hair. He watches them for a moment, twisted together in the shadows.

They're beautiful. And impossible. Such things are always impossible.

Teyla breaks away, slipping into the crowd to tap one of her people on the shoulder. Making her excuses, Tyrus presumes.

*******

He catches Sora by the arm, before she can follow Teyla into the darkness.

"Sora. Come with me."

"But, father--where are we--"

He doesn't answer. It's not really a question anyway.

Cowen and Kolya are waiting, uniforms crisp. No trace of the peaceful farmer evident under the stiff material.

Sora stills in their presence, but does not flinch before their words. He is not too late.

"You are Genii, Sora." He says as they return to the surface. "She is not."

_She never was_, he does not say. _Seven years she lived among us, but she never was._

*******

They part ways on the surface. He watches her disappear into the woods, before turning back to the village. There will be talk if he doesn't return to the celebration. So he drinks and laughs and mingles with the Athosians. And he doesn't think about how he too was once seventeen and in love with the impossible, or of another girl with golden curls and laughing eyes. One for whom Genia was never home.

He's still awake when Sora comes home just before dawn. He hasn't been waiting; he knew she would return. She is his daughter. She is Genii.


End file.
